


Buried Beneath

by Thymesis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, POV First Person, Pre-ANH, Short One Shot, Vignette, post-ROTS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: My brother is dead, and I am on my knees before this false-bottomed chest like a grieving man before an open grave. It’s fitting, perhaps, that our lightsabers shall be at rest together beneath a humble pile of clothing. After all, the one who called himself Obi-Wan Kenobi died with him.





	

I have not seen my lightsaber in three months. I am looking at it now.

It remains where I hid it, under the false bottom of the clothes chest at the foot of my bed. This is not a deception meant to withstand a thorough search of the premises of my new settlers’ homestead. However, carrying a lightsaber in the present circumstances, even concealed on my person, would be tantamount to suicide—and my life is not my own. I still have a duty, one I’m determined to discharge faithfully.

I feel no particular attachment to my lightsaber. It is practically new, constructed late in my tenure as a General of the Grand Army of the Republic and optimized for the life and death struggles of the battlefield. A weapon of galactic war has no place in the desert wastelands of remote Tatooine, or so I hope. If perchance there is need, it will be safe and sound and reasonably accessible. For what remains, well, I must trust in the Force.

My lightsaber is not alone in the chest. Lying parallel alongside it is a second lightsaber. Unlike my own stripped-down, functional design, this one is a single, solid cylinder of gleaming, chrome-plated durasteel. I reach out and allow my fingers to brush lightly along its length. Beautiful and strong, like Anakin Skywalker himself.

Oh Anakin…

No. Why do I torment myself by looking at impotent symbols of an unalterable past? My brother is dead, and I am on my knees before this false-bottomed chest like a grieving man before an open grave. It’s fitting, perhaps, that our lightsabers shall be at rest together beneath a humble pile of clothing. After all, the one who called himself Obi-Wan Kenobi died with him.

Keep your concentration here and now where it belongs, Master Qui-Gon used to say.

Here, there is only Ben.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first 300 words of a potentially aborted attempt at the sort of Obi-Wan-in-Exile-on-Tatooine story that I would like to read: slashy but otherwise (more or less) canon-compliant. I even have a projected word count and outline all ready. But given the headlines these days, I’m not sure whether I have sufficient spiritual will to write a novel-length fanfic about a man hiding from an oppressive fascist dictatorship. So I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you enjoy it and want to read more, _please_ do let me know!
> 
> For now, though, barring an unexpectedly enthusiastic response, consider this a standalone vignette.
> 
> March 15, 2017: This story is being continued under the title [What Dwells in Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10237940). The introductory snippet at this URL is now purely for archival purposes.


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